Chapter Nineteen Feel
I can’t explain it. How things feel.
Different. Better. Happier.
At ease.
Horny. Growing antlers.
My work has been beyond easy these past few days. Knowing I’ve just moved, the company hasn’t placed too many demands on me. I tend to stay on track and even ahead of my workload, so it’s easy to keep pace with the small bits they are sending me. I used to spend hours at my desk, refusing to move until every possible task was done.
Now, I get up, stroll around, and unpack. Tidy. Come back for a bit. Text Georgia. Text Madge about enlargement charms.
Everywhere I go, I whistle and hum. My home is filled with music. That never happened with Nicola. It never happened when I was single.
I remember my mother saying that love is music in search of words.
Is this love?
I start on the expense accounts for my designated pilots and think of calling Finlay.
Instead, I call Georgia.
“Diana, handle the counter for a minute, will you? Hey there.” Georgia’s voice is as warm as summer rain. People say that sort of thing in songs, but by God, it’s true. Just hearing the sweet, honeyed tones she uses for something simple as a greeting soaks into my skin and penetrates my heart and soul.
“Hey, yourself. Question. When do you think a person ought to tell another person that they love them?”
That’s right. I ask her. I ask her, not my brother, or some old friend, because I don’t care about their opinions on this matter. I care about hers.
There’s stunned silence on the phone, but then a happy laugh tickles my ear. “As soon as you know for sure, I guess. If you say it before you’re sure, then you’ll end up breaking up or your actions won’t match, and that would suck. If you wait too long, the other person might think you’re saying it out of obligation. I don’t really know. Why do you ask?”
“Because your opinion matters to me, lassie,” I drawl, chuckling because I know her question was meant to lead me elsewhere.
“Well, your opinion matters to me. When do you think someone should say it?”
“Hmm. After his ladylove gives him the clear signal that his affection is desired.”
“Oooh, that was right out of Ultarn the Prolific. Someone’s been studying.”
“I have not.”
Okay, I glanced at it as I was unpacking some of the boxes that arrived today. I didn’t spend much time on the courtship section, I’m afraid. I turned right to the guide for making the bridal bed a wellspring of joy.
Wellspring.
Licking Georgia until her juices literally run like water... Kneeling under her swollen lips in the shower, milking orgasm after orgasm from her while the water carries her nectar down my throat.
I grunt into the phone, kilt suddenly tented like a ruddy flagpole is hiding beneath it.
“Well, maybe you don’t need to study,” Georgia purrs, voice dropping. “You’ve already left your mark on me.”
“Not as much as I will do,” I growl, hand shamelessly seeking my swollen cock.
“I meant your little remark about the counter last night. For a girl who works in a coffee shop, surrounded by counters... Mm. Let’s just say you’ve been on my mind all morning.”
“Aye? You’ve been occupying a fair amount of my mental territory, too.”
“Maybe after dinner, we can stroll down memory lane together. In the same room this time.”
My hand moves faster, breathing tighter, huffing out in short, fast puffs as the rush of climax swamps me, coming up faster than it usually does. Far faster. I’m imagining her lying next to me—no, facing me, showing off her glorious body. Letting me watch her finger her delicate little folds and open her tight center. I’d lap her to completion without asking for more.
I wonder if she’d feel comfortable touching me.
All of those thoughts are wrong, too soon, and too salacious. Yet... There they are.
“Douglas?”
“Hm?”
“Sorry, that probably sounded way more forward than I meant.”
“But around you, forward is my favorite direction.”
“Smooth talker.”
I burst out laughing, hand momentarily stilling. “That’s far from the truth.”
“But you’re smooth to me. Very smooth. Speaking of smooth things, do you happen to... well...” Georgia’s voice drifts so low that only someone with Orc hearing would catch her words. “Moving forward, far, far forward, whenever you decided to go that far forward—”
“Spit it out, pet.”
“Do you like your partners to look a certain way?”
I hasten to reassure her that her looks would be perfect in my eyes—but I can’t resist making her squirm, especially as she has me squirming to the point where I’m rubbing myself off in the middle of the day when I ought to be crunching numbers. “I’m very particular about that sort of thing,” I say, controlling my voice as much as possible.
“Oh. Okay. Good to know.”
“I like my partner to have a big smile on her face when she sees me. To have her pretty blue eyes light up when I kiss her. Like to imagine that she’d look up at me with her lips ready for a kiss... And her face is all flushed from the things I do to her.”
“Douglas,” a whispered pant. “Stop. I’m going to have to go sit on an ice cube tray.”
“You deserve a day off. When your brother and sister-in-law return, you ought to show me around these mountains and glens. Take me roaming.”
“I’ll pack a picnic.”
“Georgia! I need change!”
“Darn it. I have to go.”
“Fine, love. The picnic sounds perfect. See you soon?”
“Very soon.”
We hang up, and I pity my poor blonde angel. I imagine her being all wet for me, squirming without relief. Aching for me.
It’s going to be all I can do to stop myself from pulling her onto the bed and licking her sweet, needy little puss as penance.
That thought sends my cum streaking out of me, shooting out so hard my teeth clack together.
I can’t believe only a few days ago I was trying to talk myself out of expressing interest in her.
That means she’d have been alone, Dougie. Alone or with the wrong man, just like you were with the wrong woman.
You can’t let that happen.
THIS FEELS HORRIBLE . The needy, aching waiting is killing me. I’ve been teetering on the edge of climax all afternoon. I try to distract myself, but I fail over and over. The smallest thing reminds me of him.
Driving home, I call my best friend, Gloria.
“Hi, sweetie pie!” the bubbly ghost answers. (Yes, ghosts that have been around as long as Gloria can use technology—if the person on the other end is in a receptive enough state of mind to see or hear them.)
“I think I’m in love and I’m like a cork on a hundred degree bottle of champagne!” I wail.
Gloria gasps. “Wesley! Leave the room. You’re on speaker phone, sugar.”
“Sorry.” I giggle as I hear Wesley protest and shuffle away. Her human husband is a reformed grump and actually quite a nice person. It tickles me to think that he wanted to stay and hear the gossip, but I’d rather he gets it secondhand tonight.
“All right. Just us girls. This is that big, strong, strapping Orc? The one with the beautiful silver streaks in his hair? Mm. I know about those silver streaks...”
Gloria’s husband has them, too. “Maybe this is why we’re besties. We have a thing for strong silent types with wounded hearts and salt and pepper hair.”
“The books call ‘em silver foxes. But by the size of Mr. Wickstaff, I’d say you’ve got yourself a silver wolf.”
“That’s just it. I haven’t got him. Yet . That is, I think we’re starting off strong after a little hesitancy, but oh... Oh, I want to be at the finish line right now .” I rub my crotch along the edge of my seat, letting the thick seam of my jeans press against my engorged clit.
“Oh, my. You are smitten.”
“That’s the politest word for what I am,” I sigh, pulling into my driveway. Douglas gave me his address this morning in a text. Our townhouse community is in circular “courts,” and Douglas is only two courts away from mine. So close, and yet so far.
“Good things come to those who wait. Look how long I had to wait for Wes.”
“I know, I know.”
“You need a good dirty book and a bubble bath.”
I pout and start lugging my stuff inside. “Pale substitutes.”
“Cranky.”
“I have an itch I want him to scratch, okay?” I hiss.
“Do you think he feels the same?”
“Yes. Maybe. He’s got more emotional baggage than me. Everything feels right with him. Easy with him. Last night, we... Well, it was a good talk.” Good other things, too. Gloria can probably guess that our conversation was intimate from the blush in my voice.
“Oooh. I’ll want details later. Maybe tonight is the night that you’ll finally let that champagne out of the bottle.”
Filthy images of Douglas erupting like a foaming fountain sear into my mind’s eye.
“Uh-huh.” I finally manage to croak. “I gotta run, Gloria.”
I have to go get ready.
SHE ARRIVES WEARING a fluttery little pink dress that stops above her knees, carrying two brown paper bags, a flash drive, and a binder. She’s wearing sandals to match, the kind that show off every toe and the summery pink nail polish adorning them.
My Georgia. We don’t have a May-December romance. We have a summer and spring romance. She’s warm, awakening April, and I’m stormy July—a hot, humid month that soaks into your skin and makes your blood boil.
“Do I come in, or do we eat on the lawn?” Gloria laughs as I stay in the doorway, staring at her, lost in metaphors and fantasies.
“Come in. You took my breath away. Well, my brain.” I welcome her in, eyes coasting down her body but settling in delight on her face. “Good evening.”
“Good evening.” She passes me one bag and the binder, raising her face with smiling lips.
Kiss her. She’s yours to kiss and court. That beautiful smile is for you. That beautiful body is going to be curled up in your bed one day, with your arms around her.
I kiss her, long and full, in no hurry. I take everything else she carries as one arm guides her closer to me, putting things down on the floor without breaking the kiss.
Georgia is the one who ends it, lips pouting and slightly red. “I need to tell you something.”
Oh. That’s not good. “I was forgettin’ myself, Georgia. It won’t happen again.”
“Oh, God, yes, it needs to happen again,” she whimpers, clinging to my white shirt, fingers digging into the fabric in desperation.
She’s desperate for me. If she only knew how close I am to dropping to my knees to beg her to be mine and never, ever leave my side, then she’d understand how mutual our desire is.
“What’s up, love?” I ask, stroking her hair back.
“I don’t want you to think that I’m just going around and kissing every man I meet like that,” she pants, still getting her breath back.
“Perish the thought! I knew that.”
“I never dated. I would go out here and there, but no relationships. Nothing heavier than a kiss goodnight, okay?”
“Okay. Right.” I nod slowly, wondering where this is going.
“I used up all my patience and self-restraint over the last ten years.” She yanks her hands away from my chest and balls them at her sides. “I’m having a hard time going slow. M-maybe we should go out to dinner instead. Less temptation?” she asks in a nervous voice that does my heart in.
I wrap my arm around her waist and lay my head to hers. “We can’t possibly go out, Georgia. I want to go slow, sure, but with the way you make me feel? Not shouting to all the world that you kissed me and that I’m courting you is plenty slow. Waiting even another day sometimes seems like one too many.” I kiss her sweet-smelling hair. Like coffee, vanilla, and cinnamon. “My God, woman. You smell good enough to eat.”
Georgia squeaks and trails her hand down the side of my face, bringing my lips back to hers. Tongues war. Tusks indent her soft skin. “Well, we can’t do that sort of eating out in a restaurant,” she whispers, cheeks flaming.
Mine must be dark jungle green with the heat flooding them. “I want to do whatever pleases you, precious.”
“I want to please you. You’ve been alone and sad for so long. Being near you makes me so happy, but I don’t want to be selfish.”
I nod several times, trying to explain what I feel, what I want. I want to go act on my desires—but not all of them. I feel like that would mean I didn’t wait long enough for her. That I was impatient. Ultarn the Prolific would never condone a few days as a proper courtship before consummating.
On the other hand, that was thousands of years ago.
“Come and see the rest of the house?” I whisper, scooping up the bags from the floor. “Dinner can wait.”
“Everything can wait.” She inserts herself right back under my arm, taking half the items.
My perfect fit. My helpmate.
“Can we wait a little longer before we... Ahem. Before we complete anything?” I ask, not meeting her eyes.
“Of course! If you’re not ready yet, we can wait months. Years, if that’s what it takes. When you love someone, the only thing that matters is that they feel safe and feel right. That’s what I believe.”
Love someone?
Loves me?
I let the words pass without remarking, but I store them up in my giddy heart.
“I feel perfectly safe with you. How do you feel with me?”
“Exquisite.” Georgia follows me up the stairs, hand in mine.
“What a lovely word.”
“Mm. What a lovely room.” Georgia steps into the only fully furnished room in the place, my bedroom. She stops in the doorway, looking up at me with her lids half covering her eyes. It gives her a relaxed, sleepy look, almost seductive.
Not that I need to be seduced.
“Everything else can wait until later. After.” I bend my head, locked in her luminous gaze, drawn deeper into her arms, into her kiss.
My stomach is tense, my cock tight, knot hard. All systems respond to Georgia in a way that my body has never experienced. My hand easily brushes her soft breast, generous for her slender size, and so pliant in my palm. I can feel the hard nipple through the fabric, and touching it with tracing fingers makes my love moan.
Her hand slips from its place on my back and turns off the bedroom light, plunging it into a lavender dimness as the last bits of sunlight filter through the blinds.
In turn, my hand slides from her breast to her hip, hesitating before moving lower. I can smell the rich, wanting scent of her wetness, but that doesn’t mean I have the right to touch her there.
“Wh-what parts did you touch last night?” Georgia whispers between kisses.
I suck on her pulse point. “I think you know.”
“Do I stay away from those parts?” she asks, one eyebrow arching.
Her hands on me? Heaven.
“That’s up to you.”
“No, no. It’s up to us. What are you comfortable with?”
“I’m comfortable with you .”
“Ditto.” Georgia lets her hand drop to my waist.
There’s no hiding my erection from her this time. The back of her hand nudges it as she strokes up and down my abdominal muscles, semi-defined from years of having little enjoyment in eating and hobbies that involve lots of lifting and running.
My fingers dance over the narrow belt at her waist, obviously only there for fashion. Georgia moves, and for a second I think she’s going to pull away, avoid my touch. I don’t want to press her too far, but I dread the moment she pulls away from me.
A sudden flashback taunts me of the first night Nicola turned away from me in bed, her silence a clear order to leave her alone.
But Georgia plants my hand firmly on her thigh. “Maybe we should sit down? Or lie down?”
“Anything you like, love.”
“Oh, ho. Don’t offer that, Mr. Wickstaff.”
“Ah, but I want to be the best possible host. It’s an honor to have a guest such as yourself, Miss Fenclan,” I wink and play along.
“But I can be very greedy,” she whispers, winding her arms around my neck.
My hands knead her hips, feeling her stomach press to my cock as it is trapped between us.
“What’s mine is yours.”
Georgia sighs as her lips leave mine for just a moment. “I was hoping you’d say that.”